


The Bargain

by kyo_chan



Series: Dead is the New Alive [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/kyo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy Mustang came to make Kimblee an offer he shouldn't refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ community "fma_fic_contest" prompt "Fracas".  
> The change to note is that Kimblee was not part of the prison group in Lab 5. He was in a special solitary confinement cell, similar to how he's seen in Brotherhood.

The heavy door grated against the concrete floor, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Zolf Kimblee looked up as light from the hallway spilled in, wincing only slightly at how bright it seemed after countless hours spent in near-darkness. Curiously, his head tilted in the direction of the entryway, golden eyes flashing like those of a cat, eerie and intense.

“Well, well,” he hummed, sitting up straighter, smirking. “If it isn’t the Hero of Ishval, descended from on high to visit the lowly collared dog.”

Roy Mustang didn’t respond to the jibe, merely raising one gloved hand to push the door shut, the sound reverberating off of cold stone walls. Kimblee noted that the Flame Alchemist didn’t walk with his tail between his legs any longer, those broad shoulders set in a firm line. He wondered if Mustang’s body spoke the truth or if he had only gotten better at pretending he was strong. Only a single dark eye locked on Kimblee’s face, the other hidden behind an eyepatch. Intrigued, Crimson pondered its origin while they spent a silent moment sizing one another up.

Kimblee was the first to break the stare, leaning back against the wall, shifting to cross one leg over the other, settling the board that bound his wrists more comfortably against his thigh. “So, to what do I owe the honour of this visit--” he narrowed his eyes at the colours and stars decorating Mustang’s uniform jacket. “--General Mustang?” His voice dripped with the sour notes of mockery, eyes glittering with amusement.

“I’m here,” Mustang finally answered, “because you need me.”

Kimblee’s laughter filled the room, sharp and tinged with something that didn’t sound quite sane. “I need you. I need _you_?”

“How long have they left you to rot here, Crimson?” Mustang continued without waiting for the answer. “Now, as it turns out, I have the authority to release you from this place. I can let your hands touch one another again. You miss the alchemy, don’t you?”

The amusement drained from Kimblee’s face, save the remainder of his edgy grin. He leaned forward, spreading his fingers and displaying the ingenious half-arrays permanently inscribed into his skin. “Toying with fire, as usual, Mustang. I do indeed miss the sounds of screaming, the frantic movements of people scrambling to save their lives, I miss the beautiful harmony of explosive force and perfect alchemy. And did you miss _me_ , Mustang? How touching. Are you so eager to smell bodies burning again?”

The Flame Alchemist didn’t flinch, no flash of guilt touched the inky black eye that continued to stare as if they could see straight through Kimblee. Impressive stoicism. One step closer, and then another. “The payment for letting you out is for you to give me the Stone.”

“What Stone?” Kimblee said, once more splaying his hands as he shrugged, this time meaning to show that he had nothing in his possession. “The little rock from Ishval? Do you really think they’d be so stupid as to let me sit here with it all this time?”

Mustang’s sigh was long-suffering. “Unfortunately, I do. And I’m right. Aren’t I?” He stepped to the side of where Kimblee sat, not immediately within reach of those hands that could make him the bridge connecting those two circles. It would spell a very messy end for him, and he had far too many plans in motion to allow that. He reached out, unsurprised when Kimblee held his ground, watching to see what he would do. The ignition cloth brushed against his cheek, the touch deceptively gentle and smelling of sulphur, of fire. In a heartbeat, Roy gripped his throat, his thumb pressing in just under the chin. The Stone under Kimblee's tongue dug into him in response “Aren’t I?”

Kimblee leapt forward like a wildcat, growling just as menacingly, his shoulder barreling into Mustang’s chest to knock him back. “Guard!” he half snarled, half sing-songed towards the cell door, eyes like slits and focused on Mustang, who did not advance yet. “Surely, you don’t intend to let General Mustang strike me.”

The door wailed as it opened, and Kimblee smirked when he heard boots on pavement, stepping into the confines of his stone prison. True he was a kept dog, but he knew he had been saved for a greater purpose, otherwise, he would have been put to death for his crimes in Ishval. Mustang was playing a game far out of his league. He parted his lips to let something mocking slip free, but a gunshot silenced him, making his head snap to the side just as a bullet whizzed just past his ear. “What--?”

Mustang slammed into him, their bodies making a loud thud against the wall. Kimblee grunted, his eyes wide when one hand wrenched the board around his wrists to the side, the other finding his throat again. Just over Mustang’s shoulder, he could see the Hawk’s Eye calmly standing where the guard should have been, her service revolver held at the ready in confident hands. She watched him with all the focus of the predator she had become, no longer the timid little girl from the battlefield. He was alone with them. That knowledge fueled him to fight back even harder still, trying to find purchase on Mustang’s body...it would take so little to reduce him to mere pieces of flesh. In spite of his efforts he went down hard, the sound of his head hitting the floor echoing in his ears. His vision swam red like the Stone, then started to flood with black.

“When I come back,” he heard Mustang say, as if he were standing at the other end of a tunnel, “I’ll uphold my end of the bargain.” Kimblee fought to stay conscious, but Roy’s hand on his throat, the steady weight on his chest, pushed him down into the darkness. Rage burned, made his palms itch, before a cool relief washed over him and he let himself fall.


End file.
